


I Have Met My Destiny (In Quite a Similar Way)

by SolarMorrigan



Category: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2012), Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter - Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, so much fluff we're basically just sitting inside a pillow at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Henry's taste in music is broad and varied. Abe can't say he enjoys all of it, he can appreciate almost anything that will get Henry to hum along
Relationships: Abraham Lincoln/Henry Sturges
Kudos: 1





	I Have Met My Destiny (In Quite a Similar Way)

**Author's Note:**

> Working title for this one was "some unholy combination of vampires and ABBA," but that seemed a little too on the nose
> 
> Anyway, look, I just feel like the fact that Dominic Cooper was in both ALVH and Mamma Mia is underutilized in this fandom. Also I like this song for them. Also this song was stuck in my head for a week straight and I had to do something about it or I was going to lose my mind

While Henry prided himself on his ability to keep up with the times, there were some ways in which Abe knew he would never really change.

The parts of himself he didn’t modify for display to the world but which he could not help but adhere to—the way he couldn’t stand for cruelty to those unable to stand up for themselves, the way he remained insatiably curious about the world in spite of everything, his love for books and music and theater (“when done well,” he’d argue)—these were the things Abe had grown to love about him. These things were the reason Abe put up with Henry’s obsessive technology updates and his frivolously ever-changing wardrobe and the new slang he insisted Abe at least learn the meaning of.

They were definitely the reason Abe put up with Henry’s compulsive reorganization of the library.

The library was hypothetically for both of them, but it was very much Henry’s pride and joy, and the only real indulgence of the “past” he allowed himself on a regular basis. After all, he argued, literature didn’t get old, it simply became classic (Abe had not required the rationalization but had nodded along with Henry, anyway; it hadn’t been for his benefit, really).

It was the only room the cleaning staff was told to leave alone, as Henry saw to its maintenance himself, dusting the built-in, floor-to-ceiling shelves, checking the climate-controlled cases, and forever shuffling and reshuffling the books around.

There were first editions and signed copies—all bought by and signed to Henry himself, of course—that were left in their locked cases for safekeeping, taken out only under special circumstances (Henry didn’t much believe in putting things on a pedestal just because they were old—if they fell apart, they weren’t worth keeping around, anyway—but these were special, often from writers Henry had known personally, had been friends with, and they were some of the only mementos he allowed himself), but all the other books were fair game.

Henry would rearrange things when he was having a bad day, or when he was feeling nostalgic, or when he simply felt like it was time for a change, and it drove Abe _up the wall_. He never knew how to find a book in his own home. The books special to _him—_ fewer in number than Henry’s, but a respectable amount—were also left as sacrosanct; everything else, though…

To date, Henry had organized the books alphabetically by title (forwards and backwards), alphabetically by author (forwards and backwards), chronologically (by publication date, by the author’s birthdate, and by the date Henry had first read them), by subject (alphabetically and by level of interest to Henry specifically), by color, by size, and once by Dewey Decimal Classification (that one had taken quite a bit, and Abe had let Henry be for the duration; it hadn’t been a good couple of days).

Henry said that it helped to clear his mind, but Abe suspected there were times Henry just enjoyed being surrounded by words. It certainly seemed to put him in a good mood, in any case, which _sometimes_ resulted in another of Abe’s favored habits of Henry’s: singing.

It was a difficult one to catch; Henry rarely did it if he knew anyone was within earshot—and thanks to his vampiric senses, he usually knew—but here and there, Abe had managed to catch Henry off guard. He blessed the invention of headphones for this, if nothing else; when wearing them, Henry tended to get swept up in whatever he was listening to and would sometimes sing along without realizing Abe had come into range.

Abe would guess Henry had headphones on right now, as it happened, since Abe could hear him belting all the way from the kitchen.

Smiling to himself, Abe shrugged out of his coat and dropped his keys on the kitchen table. Henry had only just begun his latest reorganization effort when Abe had left a few hours ago to run errands, and it sounded as though he was well engrossed in it by now – and as though he was enjoying himself, if the tune of whatever he was singing was any indication.

From downstairs, Abe couldn’t quite make out the words, but it sounded different from Henry’s usual fare; something upbeat and poppy. As Abe approached the stairs, stealthy as he was capable of being, almost certain Henry would notice him now and stop singing, the words resolved themselves:

“ _Waterloo, promise to love you forever more! Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to!_ ”

They ticked something in the back of Abe’s memory, a half-remembered band popular in the 60s or 70s that he was sure Henry had played records of at some point, but the effort to remember was abandoned in favor of quelling laughter once he’d ascended the stairs and reached the open library door.

There was Henry, a man Abe had once upon a time thought of as suave and possibly even aloof, now with one arm almost awkwardly full of books as he scrutinized the title of one held in his other hand, body swaying almost subconsciously to the music as he sang.

To say Abe preferred this version of Henry was a vast understatement.

“ _And how could I ever refuse… I feel like a win when I lose! Waterloo –_ It’s not nice to sneak up on people, Abraham.”

Abe couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him then. _Caught_.

“Hardly my fault you didn’t notice I was home,” Abe countered. “But please, don’t stop on my account.”

Henry was already freeing up a hand to reach up and press a button on the cord of his earbuds—not headphones anymore, but hell, what a stupid name for a thing—to pause the music. “Well, now that you’re here, it would be rude to ignore you.”

He then proceeded to continue organizing the books as if Abe weren’t there, and Abe let out a huff of amusement. Henry certainly put on a good show—much like a cat, he was very good at acting like he’d meant to be doing whatever it was he was doing all along, even when he very much had not meant to do it at all—but after over a century of acquaintance, Abe could read the lines of embarrassment in his form. If he’d been capable, Abe imagined Henry might actually have been blushing at the moment.

“You could sing _for_ me, then,” Abe suggested, gently teasing. “You have a lovely voice for it.”

And he did, was the thing – Abe had no idea what Henry’s hang-up about singing was, when he possessed such a sharp, clear, emotive voice.

“You know I have a rule against torturing those who don’t deserve it,” Henry shot back, and Abe rolled his eyes.

He stepped carefully over the stacks of books that had accumulated around Henry and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “If you say so,” Abe murmured lightly, gamely accepting the kiss Henry turned to offer him before he stepped away again, this time to approach one of the few surfaces in the room that hadn’t been overtaken by Henry’s project.

Much preferring to be near whatever bustling signs of life the house had to offer today, Abe pulled a chair up to the half-clear desk and, after a moment of searching, found his sketchbook tucked safely away where he’d left it the previous night, when he had been drawing while listening to Henry read.

Making his intent to settle clear, Abe slipped the pencil from the ring binding and flipped to a clean page. He could see Henry shake his head out of the corner of his eye before continuing to pull and stack and re-shelve books.

As the cloudy afternoon light filtering through the windows waned into evening shade, they kept each other company in relative silence, the gentle thud of books being moved around and the scratch of pencil on paper filling the space between them until hours had passed and Abe caught a few faint notes hummed along from the other side of the room.

Pencil poised above his sketchbook, Abe chanced a look up and saw Henry absorbed in whatever he was doing by a corner shelf and quietly, absently, singing.

“ _The history book on the shelf, is always repeating itself…_ ”

His voice was soft, a little lost in thought, but still pleasant. Abe smiled to himself and returned to drawing. If Henry had forgotten Abe was in the room with him, Abe wouldn’t be the one to remind him.

“ _Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war… Waterloo, promise to love you forever more…_ ”

It was a pretty catchy song, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay listen, like. I know I usually just use end notes to tell people I have a Tumblr and then run, but listen I just gotta. I get the feeling that Henry is perfectly content with letting his actions speak for him and with telling people about his past--even the unappealing parts--but when it comes to creations, things that come of himself but have to stand on their own without his interpretation, things like writing or even singing, he'd be... much less comfortable
> 
> That's it, that's all I got, thanks for coming
> 
> Here's [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
